Phoenix Elite
by Athena G
Summary: Music declares sentiments you cannot express with words, so when Minerva comes across a pristine piano in a deserted classroom in Hogwarts, her feelings are released with the magic of the melody. Gentle ADMM.
1. Hidden Talent

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters or places portrayed in this story are mine. All belong to JKRowling. Not copyright infringement intended.

_**Hidden Talents**_

The suitcases of the students' of Hogwarts School had all been packed and were on the Hogwarts Express – all that was left to depart was the mass of third year pupils shouting riotously as they swarmed the entrance hall.

An emerald robed teacher marched back up the stone steps for the fifth time that morning and entered the castle. A sudden silence fell over the third years – this particular professor had a way of commanding hordes of students without saying a word.

"Put that wand away, Mr. Davies," Professor McGonagall's voice cracked sharply through the air over the students' heads. "Or do you want detention with me while all your fellow classmates are comfortably on their way home?"

McGonagall, famously known among the students for her severity, was of course not going to keep the boy behind. However, Alvin Davies, along with most of the school thought that his transfiguration teacher was always deadly serious.

"Sorry, Professor," Alvin squeaked and tried shakily to stuff his wand back into his pocket as Professor McGonagall looked fiercely down at him through her stern eyes.

"Hm," she replied curtly, then looked to the rest of the students and with no evidence of a smile said, "Enjoy your summer. You may go."

The students began to leave the entrance hall quickly and the noise level rapidly started to rise. Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared angrily.

"_Quietly_!" she snapped loudly above the sudden noise of her pupils.

Once the last of the suddenly very quiet third years had stepped out into the grounds on their way to the Hogwarts Express, the enormous castle doors closed of their own accord. Minerva McGonagall was left standing alone in the peace of the entrance hall and inhaled a deep, relaxing breath. She turned on her heal, her light, summer robes fluttering out behind her, and began to make her way up the marble staircase and to her office where the last of the years papers could be neatly filed away.

As she was walking along the final corridor that led to her office, she noticed a door to her left that was not usually there. Minerva knew that many of the doors in Hogwarts enjoyed moving around. She knew that sometimes (rather too often for most people's liking) solid walls like to _pretend_ that they were doors. Ordinarily, however, like most of the inhabitants of Hogwarts, the walls and doors rarely, if ever, misbehaved in Minerva McGonagall's presence, and so this door gained Minerva's full attention.

There was nothing at all grand or extraordinary about the door. In fact, it looked as though it might lead into a poky storeroom. With her brow furrowed, Minerva grasped the cool, brass knob that was attached to the thin wood, and twisted it. It gave one long squeak and then abruptly clicked open. She pushed the door open and discovered that the room beyond it was not a storeroom at all. Stepping forward and into the room, she left the door slightly ajar behind her.

Minerva appeared to be in a disused classroom. Dusty desks were piled against the back wall to her left, while the blackboard to her right had been covered with a sheet that looked as if it had originally been white but was now spotted with grime and mould from the damp air.

It was the object straight ahead of Minerva, however, that caught her eye. Standing on the cold flagstones in the centre of the room, spotless and shining, stood an enormous grand piano.

Minerva's feet remained very still at the shock of such a unexpected yet magnificent spectacle. It had been years since Minerva had played on her Great Uncle Phoebus' _Perfect Pitch VII_ piano, and this was many leaps up from that. This was a _Phoenix Elite_, one of the greatest pianos known in the wizarding world. She had no idea how Hogwarts had come by this treasure, and knew that she would probably never find out; the castle had always played by its own rules.

Minerva stepped over to the _Phoenix Elite_ and perched on the edge of the equally shiny, ebony stool. As if lifted by invisible cords, the lid of the piano rose steadily as she sat. Minerva's hands hovered over the white and black notes. She could already feel the magic of the instrument tingle through her fingertips, drawing her fingers down to the keys.

Minerva adored wizard pianos. She was seven when she had been forbidden by her Great Uncle Phoebus to learn to play on his _Perfect Pitch VII_. She was told instead that she had to be taught on a muggle piano and without any use of magic to aid her training. The single spell to give a witch or wizard complete knowledge was not allowed. ("How will you ever learn discipline? You can use my piano when you know how to play properly," her Great Uncle had said in his strong Scottish burr.)

The difference between wizard pianos and muggle ones was not a significant one; however, it was very noticeable – the notes and harmonies of a wizard piano affected the player in ways unheard of by muggles. In a dramatic piece of music, for instance, the musician's robes might suddenly billow out behind them as if they had been caught in a strong wind, while in a sombre piece, the piano might rise steadily off the ground, taking its player with it. The outcome was always a surprise and different with every score and sometimes even changed depending on the witch or wizard who played it.

The magnificent sound of the _Elite_ punctured the air as Minerva's fingers pressed down upon the cool ivory keys. The melodic note sailed through her skin like a breeze and played and danced at her ears. The sound was hauntingly beautiful and filled the space all around her, seeming to emanating from the very walls.

A tune came to her fingers that she thought she had forgotten; fast notes blended together in expert timing; perfect harmonies sounded throughout the room; the rapid rhythm streamed through her veins like a rising river. It was as if Minerva had never stopped playing.

The magic occurred as the pace of the music quickened. The ebony top of the piano suddenly burst into silent flames from nothing and within moments the _Phoenix Elite_ was blazing from the violent oranges and yellows of the fire. The piano did not scorch and burn – the flames were fuelled by the fast rhythm of the music.

As the rhythm slowed the flames died down with it, burning low and blue along the surface of the _Elite's_ top. A stillness filled the room as Minerva's playing came to an end and the blue flames faded to nothing.

"I didn't know you played, Minerva."

Minerva could recognise that voice in a crowd of thousands. Albus Dumbledore's thrilled declaration sailed over to her through the silence she had created. Minerva looked up quickly and saw Dumbledore's frame leaning against the now closed door. He was wearing deep blue robes and his face held a touch of enchantment buried in his twinkling eyes.

"How long have you been standing there?" Minerva asked, straightening her back and tightening her lips.

Dumbledore smiled. "Long enough to see you lose that strict posture you usually carry around with you," he answered. "Not that strictness doesn't become you. Quite the contrary," he added.

Minerva remained very still in her seat and her jaw clenched tightly at his words.

"May I?" he said, walking towards the _Phoenix Elite_ and gesturing to the space on the stool next to her.

Minerva nodded briefly and Dumbledore sat, leaving a small gap between them.

"Were you looking for me?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.

"Indirectly," Dumbledore replied. "I am missing a book and I am assuming is in your possession. I would be looking for it still had I not stumbled upon this delightful room. I hadn't the faintest idea Hogwarts housed a piano. You kept that very secret, Minerva."

"It is no secret of mine, Dumbledore," Minerva replied, sharply dismissing the notion. "I was just as surprised as you."

"Ah, but you play without the aid of magic, am I right?" Dumbledore said. "So the surprise must mean a lot more to you. Tell me, my dear, why were you taught in the muggle fashion?"

"I will not ask how you know that, Albus," Minerva said sternly, knowing that Dumbledore's powers of knowledge go far beyond her own. "My mother asked my Great Uncle to teach me that way. They wanted me to grow up to be hard working – diligent," she added.

"And might I add that they did a marvellous job," Dumbledore stated cheerily.

Minerva exhaled sharply through her nose. "I have your book," she told him, rapidly changing the subject. "Do you want it now?" she asked.

"I don't think the book is desperate to be back in my possession. I was rather rude to it last time I required its services." Dumbledore said. There was a short pause while Dumbledore glanced over the shining, ebony _Elite_. "I would like you to teach me to play, Minerva," he added with a sparkle in his eyes as he looked at her over his half-moon spectacles. "The muggle way."

Minerva looked back at him and her lips thinned. The prospect of teaching someone the piano the muggle way was rather stimulating for her. The idea of teaching Dumbledore the piano the muggle way was not what Minerva would call entertaining.

"No," she replied sharply. Dumbledore's silver eyebrows rose quickly.

"And why not?" he asked.

"Because you do not need it," she said. "You are already conscientious."

"You bring colour to my cheeks, Minerva," he responded. "But that is not why I asked."

"You won't learn from it, Albus," Minerva said. "You could just perform a spell and then play as well as anybody."

"Knowing how to play an instrument completely is not the same as playing it well, Minerva." Dumbledore said gently. "I know all the words of mermish there are, but that does not mean I speak it well. On the contrary, I have been told my accent is rather pitiable."

He smiled as he said this and Minerva sighed in resignation. His line of reasoning was one that she knew he would use and one that she could not ignore. She thought for a moment. Maybe _she_ would learn something from forbidding the use of magic to the greatest wizard of the time. This prospect provoked a sudden enthusiasm in Minerva that could not be dampened.

"Very well," she said, disguising her unforeseen interest. "I will teach you."

TBC


	2. Blossoming

**A/N**: I've really enjoyed writing this story and thanks as always for your reviews. It's always a thrill to receive them. Cheers, and enjoy!

**_Blossoming _**

"_Albus!_" Minerva slapped Dumbledore's hand away from the _Phoenix Elite's_ ivory keys for what had to be the fifth time in as many minutes. "You can't touch it until I say so."

"I have to say that I now understand fully how you can reduce an entire hall of students to total silence, Minerva," said Dumbledore, rubbing his fingers.

Minerva's eyes flashed dangerously at him. Dumbledore cleared his throat and folded his hands neatly on his lap. A small smile crept onto his lips as he looked at Minerva's unyielding features.

"Do go on," he said courteously.

x

Fifteen minutes had passed and Dumbledore had finally been allowed to play a chord. Minerva watched as he leant forwards on the stool and peered closely at the white keys, his long, crooked nose only inches away from them. She saw as his hand hovered over certain notes and he softly hummed the sound he expected to emerge if he pressed the correct keys. A rare smile appeared on Minerva's lips as she watched the spectacle.

"Yes, yes that's right," Dumbledore said cheerfully to his fingers. "I think…"

Minerva would not be surprised if the sound that then emerged from the _Elite_ even offended the ears of the tiny creatures that had taken up residence in the abandoned classroom over the years, as well as her own. Dumbledore quickly pulled his hand away from the keys.

"Oh dear," he muttered. "That didn't sound too good, did it?"

"No, it didn't," Minerva said shortly. Then in an attempt to curb her impatience, added, "But that's all right, Albus. Here, let me show you – again."

Dumbledore determinedly brought his right hand back up to the piano keys and this time Minerva placed her hand on top of his. An all too familiar feeling suddenly erupted in Minerva's stomach. It was a feeling that only the man beside her could produce, and she quickly tried to force it away. But as she sat there it only grew and swelled deep within her.

His hand was warm and smooth. His fingers were much longer than hers, and very suited for a pianist, she thought. She slid her hand higher, making sure the tips of her fingers were level with his. After placing their thumbs lightly over a white key, Minerva then manoeuvred their middle fingers two notes up from that and finally their little fingers two notes higher than their middle, all the while instructing Dumbledore with softly spoken words.

She pushed her fingers down on his, which in turn pressed the keys on the piano, and the chord resounded beautifully around the room. As it rang on, a large circle of purple mist wisped up from the flagstones surrounding them and the _Phoenix Elite_. It floated upward in a thin ring then vanished to nothing as the echo of the note faded away. Minerva stared into mid-air at a point where the mist had disappeared and her brow crinkled.

"Anything the matter, Minerva?" asked Dumbledore, who had assumed that the appearance of the mist was normal at the playing of only a single chord.

"No," she replied, "nothing."

"Good," he declared happily. "Well I think I'm getting the hang of this, my dear."

Minerva looked back at the wizard next to her and saw him beaming at the instrument. She wiped away the sceptical look that had just appeared on her face and exchanged it for one of impassivity as his pleased face turned to hers.

"Yes, well," she said, "you still have a long way to go, Albus."

"Yes, Professor," he replied, his eyes glittering merrily in the summer sunlight from the tall windows in the room as he smiled.

"Try again," Minerva commanded, ignoring Dumbledore's playful, teasing manner and the fact that she found it endearing.

He did so, again and again, improving each time. After another fifteen minutes had passed, Minerva had shown Dumbledore three more chords for him to play. He got on with these much easier now that he had grasped the first.

Minerva taught Dumbledore as though she was teaching a student of Hogwarts. Her manner was strict and stern. She gave careful encouragement when he became frustrated, and she grew irritated when he asked to perform a little spell, just so he could grasp the basics.

"You were the one who asked to be taught the muggle way, Albus," she reminded him crossly.

"A little magic to get things going would hardly hurt, Minerva," he said, amused at her annoyance from his desire to cut corners.

"You will learn the hard way, or not at all," Minerva snapped.

Dumbledore sighed rather too spectacularly. "Alas, you are right as usual," he said smiling. "This is an excellent exercise for patience."

"Of which you have plenty," she stated. "So behave yourself and forget about the magic that could make it easier."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You are marvellously strict, my dear. Very well," he said.

It was only five minutes later when Dumbledore began, once again, to feel restless.

"I find it hard to believe that you had the patience for this," he said.

Minerva huffed resentfully. "I am very patient when I want to be, Albus," she told him. "I was just a lot younger than you when I started learning, and had little else to concern myself with."

"How old were you?" he asked curiously.

"Seven," she said, and Dumbledore bubbled with laughter. "What?" she asked indignantly.

He looked at her, delighted. "I think you would have made a marvellous seven year old."

A gentle tug at Minerva's lips forced her to smile. "I was rather mischievous actually," she informed him. "At that age I used to take my mother's wand when she wasn't looking and try to curse my brother."

Dumbledore chuckled heartily. "And did it ever work?" he asked, and to his surprise, Minerva laughed.

"Once," she replied, thinking back to the less complicated time of her life. "No one knew which curse I had done so my parents ended up having to take him to St. Mungo's."

"Impressive for a seven year old," Dumbledore declared with proud astonishment.

"He didn't talk to me for a week after that," she said, still smiling. Minerva's own curiosity then got the better of her. "What about you?" she asked.

Dumbledore as a seven year old was an image she had never attempted to form in her mind, and now that she tried she found it almost impossible. He looked at her questioningly.

"What were you like when you were seven?" she asked. "I find it rather difficult to imagine you as an obedient child."

"I recall being called 'a little terror' once or twice," he told her with satisfaction. "Far too curious for my own good. Everyone was an inventor in those days," he continued, "and my Uncle was among them. He used to keep jars upon jars full of what looked like swirling light in his dungeon. He took me down there only once and when he had his back turned I opened a jar to see what would happen. In hindsight it was not a very sensible thing to do."

"What happened?" Minerva asked in anticipation.

"Let's just say my uncle has forgiven me and is now very happy," he answered, "…as a yak."

Minerva gasped but a smile had grown into her features. "He's not?" she exclaimed. "Can't you turn him back even now?"

"Theoretically, yes," Dumbledore answered, and after a long pause Minerva gave up on expecting him to elaborate. She didn't ask.

"So," she said finally into the strange silence, looking at Dumbledore with curious amusement, "back to business?"

She saw Dumbledore's smile fade as he turned hopelessly back to the instrument that had been standing forgotten before them.

"I think I am not ready for more quite yet," he said. "And I have a proposition for you."

"And what's that?" Minerva asked sternly, knowing full well what Dumbledore's propositions had the potential of leading to.

Dumbledore gestured towards the white and black keys of the _Phoenix Elite_ and looked hopefully at Minerva over his shimmering glasses.

"No," she stated, rather too firmly.

"Come now, my dear," he responded. "I should like to hear you play."

"You have heard me play, Albus," she said stubbornly.

"Well then I should like you hear you again," he stated simply.

Minerva looked down at the magnificent piano and her fingers suddenly itched for the keys. She could very easily argue with the man beside her, but not when a part of her was reaching out, desperate to feel again the sensation that only a wizard piano can give.

She did not respond but moved to sit straight on the stool while Dumbledore, smiling, shuffled further down to give Minerva room.

She began to play. This piece was very different from the first. Her fingers were light on the keys and the rhythm was slow, holding a strange mixture of despair and overwhelming joy. Minerva could feel the magic tingle at her fingertips and then surge through her veins, swelling like a balloon in her chest.

She hit the keys harder as the build up of the piece increased only to soften again. The slow rhythm remained as the sound level rose and fell, teasing the ears of its listeners. All of a sudden, the very soul of the piece changed and grew deeper, casting an enchantment over the listeners that they could not see the limit of. And the magic began.

Dumbledore sat very quiet and still, watching the magic as it took hold of Minerva. Slowly, with the measure of the music, her hair loosened and unravelled from its tight bun as if by many invisible hands. The long, black strands floated out gently behind her, making it appear as though she was under water or had been caught in a strong breeze but in slow motion.

At the same time, her robes flew out behind her moving at the same slow pace as her hair. The effect was captivating, and the unhurried music flowed through Dumbledore as he watched the magic unfold around her.

Then something happened that was completely unexpected by both of them. Through an open window that was letting in the warm summer air, streamed thousands of pale pink, delicate petals from the flourishing blossom trees in the school grounds. They swooped into the room, dancing to the glorious music that surrounded them.

The petals stayed together like a shoal of fish, diving and swirling around. Minerva closed her eyes and continued to play, feeling warm air on her face as the blossom flurried past. Her hair was still dancing behind her and she felt it lift skywards as the mass of silky petals flew up around her, fluttering in and out through the folds of her robes and strands of her raven hair.

She opened her eyes. Turning to her left she saw Dumbledore watching her approvingly, still seated by her on the ebony stool.

Minerva's fingers steadied as she looked at him. The intense expression in his twinkling eyes was enough to distract her from the notes of the _Elite_. She stopped playing. She saw Dumbledore's lips moved as he muttered a mysterious spell that prevented the piano from silencing when Minerva's fingers fell from the keys. The rhythm continued and so too did the magic it created.

Minerva could not look away from Dumbledore's eyes. Their intense look reflected the earlier feeling that Minerva had still not been able to push away and which was now growing stronger with every second that ticked by.

Only vaguely did Minerva notice that the blossom which was soaring around her was also surrounding Dumbledore. It thickened as the music quietened to a gentler rhythm, and in no time at all there was a solid wall of pink, velvety petals moving silently in a single circle surrounding them.

The piano continued, its rhythm changing to one of such tender longing. Dumbledore smiled at Minerva. He had at some point moved closer to her and his hands now moved with certainty to gently hold her face. Minerva's forehead creased ever so slightly. Dumbledore saw her hesitation.

His voice was tender as he spoke; "What two people can cause such magic if love was not the answer?"

He gradually received a warm smile from the woman beside him and Minerva saw his eyes sparkle with affection. "You are my hope, Minerva. Without you I fear I would live in desolation."

Minerva moved her hands to Dumbledore's face, all too aware of their delicate tremble.

Her voice emerged as a whisper. "And you are mine."

END.


End file.
